My fifteenth high school reunion is only five weeks away, which gives me just enough time to totally make myself over. Or, maybe not. I’m thinking that instead of doing all that work, I should just get some really great shoes. Please advise.

Amber

Manolo says, ayyyy! The Manolo likes the way you are thinking. Obviously, you are the long time reader of the Manolo.

Normally, the most common thing to do when the Day of Labor arrives, and the high school reunion season approaches, is to start the lemon-water-cabbage-soup-watermelon starvation diet. Followed closely by calls to the beautician, the aesthetician, the dietician, and the botox doctor.

One needs to do these things so as to overcome the trauma of the high school by showing up of the mean cheerleader girls who dated the quarterbacks and ruled the lunchroom from their Mordor-like table in the center.

But, unless you have magically become Cindy Crawford in the years intervening since graduation, this sort of thing rarely works. You are still you, and they are still them, just older, perhaps wiser, and maybe more centered and contented, and the world spins on, your high school days ever receding into the distant past.

Better, says the Manolo, to fix yourself up within reason, put on the beautiful shoes and enjoy the evening. You will be surprised and delighted by what has happed to many of your classmates.

Yes, it is the end of the summer, and so the season for the sandals is near the end, but the Manolo asks, will the summer not come again? And when it does, will you not be glad that you were wise enough to have stocked up on handsome sandals made in Italy for beautiful Italian ladies of great stylishness?

It is the good deal, and there are many more styles the Manolo has not shown you, and at 60% off the regular price they will be hard to resist.

Manolo says, it is Wednesday morning and you were up and out the door early. Ayyy! Too early this morning, you put on your jogging clothing (retrieved from the back of the closet where they had been collecting mildew) strapped your running shoes (from Millets) onto your feets, and went out for the early morning jog.

It was just you and the other crazy peoples who like to stumble around the neighborhood at six in the morning, breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and softly cursing humanity under your breaths. (It was only your moderate speed, those mildewed jogging clothes, and the lack of the shopping cart that distinguished you from the homeless lady who lives under the bridge.)

Normally, you would not subject yourself to such indignities. Normally, your twice weekly visit to the YMCA, where you are tortured by the chipper, ultra-toned, blonde sociopath who runs your TaiBoBodyZumbaSculpt class, would be enough to keep things where they belong. Or so you think.

But, then yesterday morning, your husband reminded you that there were only six weeks left until your high school reunion, which sounds innocuous enough, except when he said this you were trying to button up your grey slacks, which seem, you were telling yourself at the time, to have shrunk at the dry cleaners.

It was not exactly the “does my buttocks look big in this” moment, but close, and worse, because you could not honestly direct your anger at your husband, you were forced to take responsibility for your own buttocks.

Hence, the 6AM jogging mania.

And now you are sore, but filled with that enormous sense of righteous self-satisfaction that accrues to those who have jogged first thing in the morning.

Here is the second angle, showing Lucite floating heel feature/thingy/whatzit.

On the one of the hands, it is like the modern architectural thought-experiment that has gone awry. (Lucite! Flowers! Block!) On the other of the hands, it is both arresting and fun, which is the difficult combination to manage.

So, dearest internet friend, if the money were not the objection…would you wear it?

Manolo says, here is the Willemberg from Hunter (the maker of the famous boots), the smart leather flat that would work with your casual knocking about the town wear. And what is this? They are on the sale, reduced nearly 60% off of the regular price!

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Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Mr. Manolo Blahnik. This website is not affiliated in any way with Mr. Manolo Blahnik, any products bearing the federally registered trademarks MANOLO®, BLAHNIK® or MANOLO BLAHNIK®, or any licensee of said federally registered trademarks. The views expressed on this website are solely those of the author.